Training Days: IQ Is More Than A Number
by Nikolaos
Summary: When Clint Barton first joined SHIELD, Agent Coulson knew that it wouldn't be all smooth sailing. What he didn't expect though was to find out that his new agent didn't just pretend to be the smartest guy in the room, sometimes he really was the smartest guy in the room. Intelligence wasn't just about test scores. It was about what you did with that intelligence that counted.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: **This is another little snapshot of when Clint first got to SHIELD and was still in training (Part of the **TRAINING DAYS **series but can be read independently).

I will be the first to admit that I don't know an awful lot about the American school system. (Seeing as I'm a Brit.) What I do know I learnt from Google and watching _Buffy The Vampire Slayer_ in my teens. Please feel free to tell me if I got anything blatantly wrong and I will go about correcting. Enjoy.

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-A-

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"Why do I have to take the GED?" asked Clint as he walked into Coulson's office. 

"Barton, what have I told you about knocking?" sighed Coulson as he looked up at the younger man. 

"That it's polite." Clint took a step backwards, knocked twice on the door frame, before stepping forward again. "Now, why do I have to take the GED?" 

Coulson stopped himself from rolling his eyes at Barton's actions before he answered. "It's a requirement for all recruits to have either a High School Diploma or a GED before becoming an agent. Most agents tend to have a college level of education." 

"I have a diploma." 

"You have a High School Diploma? There's no record of you attending school past the age of nine. There's no official record of _you_ after the age of nine. Last known location was an orphanage in Iowa that burnt down. You and your brother were presumed dead." 

Clint shrugged, "I still think of my brother as being dead." 

Coulson arched an eyebrow, the tone of Barton's voice implied that he _knew_ his brother wasn't dead, though he would very much like to think that he was. Which was odd, because according to SHIELD files and that of the FBI, Barney Barton was very much dead. There was a body and a grave. Shaking his head, Coulson plowed on with the current issue at hand. 

"How do you have a diploma?" 

"'Cause I attended school." Clint deadpanned. "Carson made all the kids go, that was the rules. Barney, myself and a few others had fake ID's though." He shrugged like he thought it was obvious. 

Coulson pinched the bridge of his nose, the amount of secrets the younger man had probably rivaled Fury himself. "Alright, what name were you using for school?" 

"Clint Carson," smirked Clint as Coulson rolled his eyes. 

"Which State did you take the test in?" 

"Florida, Tampa to be specific. That was where our winter base camp was. I'd go to Hillingdon High School on a near permanent basis during the winter months and during the summer when we were on tour we had tutors." Clint shrugged again, "Well, sometimes we had tutors. Sometimes it was just people who had a specific skill set. Like this one guy, he did all the pyrotechnics for the show. He taught us the more interesting aspects of chemistry. Like how to make a-" 

"I get the idea," interrupted Coulson. He could only imagine the things Clint had learnt from a guy that essentially played around with fireworks. Indicating for Clint to have a seat, Coulson picked up his desk phone and called the SHIELD Education Department. The agents there helped recruits and agents get the qualifications they needed, along with helping them learn new languages and any specialist subjects for missions. They also just happened to have a database that held all school records, for anybody and everybody that ever sat an exam. 

After nearly twenty minutes on the phone, Coulson finally hung up. "You got a score of 2260." 

"I know." 

"You had scholarship offers for three separate Ivy League schools. Coulson thought he actually saw Barton blush at this point. 

"One of my teachers nominated me. Didn't tell me until the offers came through." 

"You weren't tempted to accept any of them?" 

"School was never really my thing," shrugged Barton, a sad smile on his face. Coulson suspected that there was another reason for not taking the offers, but now was not the time for those questions. 

Barton fixed a big smile on his face. "So I don't have to take the GED?" 

"No, your file has already been updated." 

"Excellent," smirked Clint as he stood up to leave. 

"Agent Holland, would still like you to attend the scheduled session though. Something about an IQ test." 

Clint's smile vanished instantly as he trudged out of the office. "This sucks," he called back to Coulson.

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-A-

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**AN: **Thoughts and opinions always welcome.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: **The anticipated second chapter where Clint proves that what you do with your intelligence is a lot more important than what you score on a test. Even if it's just a better way of issuing threats to those people you don't like. R+R.

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-A-

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Clint circled the mat, keeping his attention on his opponent, watching for any hint that the other agent would attack. Out the corner of his eye he noticed the double doors of the gym opening, a group of people in suits marching in.

His opponent, one Agent Foster chose that moment to attack. Clint blocked the punch with his left forearm, while using his right arm to throw a punch of his own. Foster back-stepped to avoid, allowing Clint to press his advantage by delivering a round-house kick catching Foster in the stomach.

"Mister Barton, what do you think you are doing?" snapped one of the suited figures who were all now standing at the edge of the mat.

Clint glanced over to see Agent Holland from the Education Department glaring at him. His moment of distraction cost him as Foster charged at him, catching him around the middle and taking both of them down to the floor.

Clint switched his focus back to Foster, in one swift move he wrapped his legs around Foster's middle and using Foster's own momentum he rolled himself up onto his shoulders and tossed Foster over his head and back onto the mats.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" growled Clint as he rolled onto his front and scrambled back up to his feet.

"You are supposed to be in my classroom."

"You left," grunted Clint as he blocked a kick from Foster. "Two hours ago." He blocked a knee from Foster, before ducking under a fist. "I got bored."

"I told you to wait," snapped Holland. "I expect you to do as you're told."

Clint threw a punch of his own at Foster, who blocked and pushed back with a kick to Clint's stomach.

"I never did what my parents told me to do," wheezed Clint as he tried to get his breath back. "Why would I do what you tell me?"

"I am your superior. Would you stop this fight," ordered Holland.

"This ain't a fight," laughed Foster as he swept his legs out low to knock Clint down. "This is jus' sparrin'."

Clint jumped over Foster's legs, landing in a crouch. Holland was muttering with the other suited figures next to him. Rolling his eyes, Clint returned his focus to Foster. Lunging forward, Clint put all his weight onto his hands, twisting he kicked out at Foster's middle, sending him flying off the mat and into the crowd of stuffy suited agents.

A shriek of alarm was sounded by one of the women in the group as she stumbled out of the way. Clint smirked down at Foster who was now lying on top of Holland.

"Bastard," smirked Foster as he stood up before offering a hand out to Holland.

"That was completely uncalled for," spluttered Holland as he ignored Foster's hand and stood up, straightening his tie. "Now that you have finished your little game you can return to my classroom."

"Why? So I can take another test? I don't think so," said Clint as he turned away and walked towards where he'd left his water bottle.

"You will come back to my classroom and you will sit down and take whatever test I give you," snapped Holland.

"Go again?" asked Foster as he walked back onto the mat.

"Yeah," agreed Clint as he took a big gulp of water before placing the bottle down again. "Holland, I'm not taking another test, not now, not ever. So go bug somebody else."

Clint bounced lightly on the balls of his feet before he jumped forward and executed a fast round house kick. Foster was caught off guard as he slammed down on the mat, Clint was just about to go in for another kick when he was suddenly ducking as a clipboard came flying at his head.

"What the fuck!" yelled Clint as he stood up straight, fists clenched by his side as he glared at Holland.

"I'm not going to ask again," said Holland slowly, his hands placed on his hips.

"Why?" Clint pushed Foster away who had laid a warning hand on his shoulder. "So I can get another 100?"

"There is no way you could have got full marks on that test without cheating," snapped Holland.

"Says who?" asked Clint as he took another step forward.

"I do. I designed that test."

"Well it was fucking easy! They all were."

"Let me explain something to you-"

"No, let me explain something to you," growled Clint. "I passed the SATs. I passed the numerous IQ tests scoring an average of 152, hell I wasn't even trying on the last two. I might not be Stark smart, but I'm pretty sure my IQ score is higher than yours."

"That's impossible," scoffed Holland.

"You know what the real problem is. The problem is you don't like that just because you spent $150 grand on your education and mine was less than conventional, hell the most I paid was a dollar fifty in overdue book fees."

"There is no way that you could know so much about the world with just a high school education. One that I might add, you only attended during the winter months of term."

"Jus' leave it Barton, he's not worth it," said Foster as he watched the young assassin tense.

Clint looked to Foster, before un-clenching his fists and appearing to visibly relax. "Okay Holland, I'm only going to explain this once. I like to read. Hell, I've probably read a book on nearly every subject that exists. And if I read it and I can understand it then I remember it." Clint shrugged. "Or most of it anyway."

"You do not have an eidetic memory," countered Holland in disbelief.

"Never said I did, just that I remember a lot. I've also traveled, the US and the world. You know what that means? It means I know geography and I can read a fucking map!" Snarled Clint, his temper rising again as he watched Holland shaking his head.

"I learnt Japanese from the Yakuza, Italian from the Mafia, Spanish from the Cartel's, Romanian from a psychic, German from a priest and Russian from a crazy gun-toting assassin." He stepped up to Holland, "I go to any one of those countries and I sound like a local, not a grad student from some stupid Ivy league school that learnt a few phrases from a CD-ROM!

"I know local customs from a dozen different countries; I know real world applications for chemistry, engineering and politics. I know who's coming into power because I was the fucking guy that shot the last guy in power."

Clint took a step forward. "IQ is just a number. It doesn't mean anything if you don't have the common sense to use it. Unlike you, who has probably never left the classroom in his life."

"And you have so much common sense? You, who used to kill people."

Clint stopped short as he heard that comment, before he smiled "You're right about that, I am a killer. But that's present tense, not past."

Clint laughed loudly as he started walking backwards towards the gym exit. "I can also dig a good grave in under two hours. Did you know it takes a person just under five and a half hours to suffocate when buried alive? No? Try asking me to do one more test and you'll find yourself having real-world experience of a fact I read in a book."

The look of pure terror on Holland's face made Clint laugh all the harder.

"You never paid any over-due book fees did you?" asked Coulson from where he stood leaning against the door frame of the gym exit.

Clint smirked up at Coulson as he drew level with him. "I just threatened a senior agent and the only thing you can think to ask is whether or not I paid my library fees?"

Coulson shrugged in reply.

"Fine, no. I never paid any overdue book fees, hell; I never had a library card. All the books I read, I stole."

Coulson shook his head, surprisingly that answer didn't surprise him.

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-A-

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End file.
